


Pomegranate Seeds

by Thanatopsiturvy



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Backstory, Gen, I'm Soft for Neloth Okay?, Prompt Fic, Short One Shot, Wild Headcanoneering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22438648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thanatopsiturvy/pseuds/Thanatopsiturvy
Summary: All Dunmer are born of fire and ash–out of chaos and heat–in a moment of both destruction and creation.Neloth was no different, though he’d argue his true birth was not a physical one.-------[For r/fanfiction's Pomegranate Challenge - "write a short story referencing the four elements and use the word "pomegranate" at least once."]
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Pomegranate Seeds

**Author's Note:**

> I used this prompt to try to do a bit of backstory/character building for Neloth! It was fun. Not my usual style of writing, but it was a nice challenge. Thanks so much [bookscorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion) for giving this a quick beta for me!

All Dunmer are born of fire and ash – out of chaos and heat – in a moment of both destruction and creation. 

Neloth was no different, though he’d argue his _true_ birth was not a physical one.

He remembered very little of his early life, either willfully or otherwise. Childhood was a blur of disjointed sense memories, tastes and colors and sounds, punctuated by a pervasive, bitter loneliness. His mother had lost her mind long before bringing him into the world, her body an empty husk, eyes dulled and vacant. She’d barely been able to nurse, much less hold him as a child. His father was murdered by another member of House Telvanni sometime before Neloth’s twentieth nameday. He _did_ remember thinking it to be an excellent present. 

His early life was nothing to reflect upon. To him, his life _truly_ began when he first felt his connection to Magicka. 

He’d begun his studies in magic as soon as he could speak, as was expected of all members of House Telvanni. However, memorizing tomes and reciting incantations were the mere mechanics of magic. The bare bones. One could read a thousand and one books on the subject, cast any number of spells, and never once _feel_ the connection in the way Neloth had been able to – had been _forced to_.

Morrowind is unkind, especially to the young. The landscape is unforgiving. The earth is constantly taking, reclaiming and consuming, inhabited by vicious and feral creatures. Neloth had been trained as a babe to listen for the distant cry of the cliff racers, to know when he’d strayed too far into their territory. He was smarter than most of his peers, cleverer, more alert. He felt himself above such patronizing instruction. 

Until he found himself face-to-face with one of the massive beasts, its scream like a needle in his skull, the mangled guar at its feet still twitching, clinging to life… It wasn’t until this moment that Neloth truly felt his union with Magnus. 

Terror flooded his body, bright and clear and acidic. Instinct took over. Neloth’s magicka surged through him like a wave, as if awakening from a slumber, sweet and familiar. It was like taking the first bite of fresh fruit–breaking the skin of a perfectly ripe plum, the crisp burst of pomegranate seeds between your teeth, the way your cheeks draw at the tart gush of juice.  
  
He felt the heat of his spell more than he felt himself casting it. Fire. More fire than he’d ever been able to produce while training. Massive and bright. It engulfed the creature, a maelstrom of both chaos and order, perfectly controlled and yet barely contained. 

Amidst the pained and panicked shrieks of the cliff racer, Neloth nearly tumbled headfirst down the hill in his effort to get away, sliding into a particularly thick pit of swampwater. He kept moving, wading through the muck with some unknown strength, pulling himself to the opposite bank and crawling away on his hands and knees until he collapsed.  
  
Still panting, he flung himself onto his back, filthy and caked with mud. The cry of the cliff racers were distant, now – so far away that the encounter felt as though it had happened in a dream. Gazing up at the pinkening sky, the tiny portals to Aetherius were just beginning to twinkle to life. Something swelled inside him, as if his purpose on Nirn had just been revealed, the veil lifted – a key sliding into place, the tumblers of a lock yielding.  
  
And despite having nearly been killed mere moments before,  
  
Neloth laughed. 

  
  



End file.
